Pale Reflections
by megaflash
Summary: Let's hope this isn't the Power He Knows not


Minerva McGonagall was Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration Professor of Hogwarts. She had survived Gellert Grindelwald's war on the continent and Voldemort's terror attacks in Britain. She had taught both the Marauders and the Weasley Twins (separately, praise Merlin). So when the current source of her stress these years walked through the Great Hall doors, she barely batted an eye.

The rest of the Great Hall reacted poorly however. Minerva thought that the students would be used to seeing ghosts. She had to admit that it must be shocking to see the translucent outline of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Several students by the door jumped in fright and a second year fainted. A Gryffindor student (Ginny, most likely) screamed.

Harry Potter noticed none of these things happening because he was caught up in thought. He sat down at his usual spot halfway down the table and grabbed a fork. At least, he tried to.

His fingers phased through the silverware and then the table. Harry blinked and then promptly fell through the bench.

"Mr. Potter," said Minerva McGonagall. She had left the Head Table as soon as Harry had entered. Now she looked down at his incorporeal form stuck out of the Gryffindor Table bench.

"Professor?" said Harry. "Am I dead?"

"I should hope not," replied McGonagall. "Dying after only three attempts on your life is bad form. Most important people manage to survive at least five attempts."

"Was it Sirius Black?"

"What do you remember last?"

"Waking up and walking down to breakfast."

McGonagall sighed. "What do you remember from last night?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by Ronald Weasley.

"PROFESSOR MCGONAGALL!" Ron yelled, panting from his run. "Harry isn't...waking…."

Ron stared at Harry's incorporeal form sitting in the bench. Harry waved. Ron hesitantly waved back.

"Mr. Weasley," said McGonagall. "What were you saying about Harry?"

"I, uh, uhm," Ron stammered. "Harry isn't waking up. We threw cold water on him and everything."

Harry patted himself down. "I don't feel wet."

Professor Flitwick entered the Great Hall and looked around. "Morning Minerva, what is all the excitement about?"

"Mr. Potter is dead," replied McGonagall.

Flitwick chuckled. "Bit early for jokes, isn't it?"

Harry leaned out from behind McGonagall and waved. The charms professor jumped in surprise.

"Was it Sirius Black?" Flitwick asked. Behind him Professor Snape entered the Great Hall.

"A hundred points from Gryffindor for dying before I could take more points away," said Snape.

"Now is not the time, Severus," said McGonagall. "Fetch the headmaster and meet us in Gryffindor Tower. Filius, can you get Madame Pomfrey?"

Flitwick nodded and dashed off towards the infirmary. Snape strode to the nearest table, ignoring the students who scattered as he approached. Grabbing a cup of coffee, he downed it and slammed the cup down on the table. It refilled and Snape drained it again. Caffeine need satisfied, Snape departed the Great Hall. McGonagall shook her head.

"Come now, Mr. Potter. Let's see if we can sort this out."

/\/\/\/\

\/\/\/\/

"I must say, this is strange," mused Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Main Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and amateur bowler.

Harry Potter floated above his body. "Any idea how to fix it?"

Albus looked around the room. Professor Flitwick shrugged his shoulders while Professor McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose. Madame Pomfrey fretted over Harry's body, checking his vitals for the umpteenth time. Snape stood in the corner of the dormitory, glowering and wondering how he could take points off more for this situation.

"Well, my boy," began Dumbledore. "I don't know. It doesn't seem like the work of Sirius Black. Your heart has stopped and none of the spells we tried worked."

"You tried all your spells?" asked Harry. "What about enchantments? Incantations? Invocations?"

"Harry."

"Runes?"

"HARRY."

"Rituals?"

"HARRY POTTER!"

Harry stopped talking. He had forgotten that he didn't need to breathe anymore and started rambling.

"There are still some things we can try," Dumbledore said. "However, we have tried everything short of Dark Magicktm."

"That's odd," muttered Madame Pomfrey. She looked up at the silence that followed her statement.

"What's odd?" asked Harry.

"Well, your body is dead."

"Observant as always," sniped Snape. Dumbledore shushed the man and gestured for Madame Pomfrey to continue.

"But it isn't decomposing."

"It's only been half a day," said McGonagall, trying hard not to think about the fact that the body's previous occupant was currently floating above it.

"Well," said Madame Pomfrey slowly. "What if you went back in it?"

"Are you suggesting," said Dumbledore hesitantly, "That Mr. Potter, possess his own corpse?"

"It sounds pretty bad when you put it like that," said Madame Pomfrey.

Dumbledore looked pointedly at Snape. The man frowned. "Most problems associated with possession come from shoving the soul into a foreign body. I don't think I have ever heard of someone possessing their own body after death."

"Could it work?" asked Dumbeldore.

"Academically speaking," said Snape. "I don't see why not."

All eyes turned to Harry. He reached out a ghostly finger and prodded his shoulder.

There was a loud _SLURPING _noise and the silver outline of Harry flowed into his body.

Harry sat up and looked around. He attempted to speak but nothing came out.

"Oh dear," said Pomfrey. She recast diagnostic spells at him. "Your aren't breathing and your heart hasn't restarted. How do you feel?"

Harry gestured, mouth flapping.

"Right, not breathing. Can you move normally?"

Harry nodded and pointed at Snape. The man glared back at Harry. "I didn't even think it was possible, Potter. Once again you must be the exception to every rule."

Harry grabbed his wand and began drawing words in the air.

**FEEL STIFF**

"Sounds about right," said Pomfrey.

"Where did you learn to do that Harry?" asked Dumbledore, watching the words fade away.

**CHAMBER, SECOND YEAR**

"Ah, of course."

"Don't think you can skip my classes, Potter."

"Severus," snapped McGonagall. "My student is currently a ghost, piloting his body like a meat puppet. Third year potions is the last thing on his mind."

**WRITING TOO SLOW, NEED TO LEARN SIGN LANGUAGE**

"I can help you with that," offered Professor Flitwick.

**ALSO SILENT CASTING**

"That's a given," said McGonagall, desperately wishing for the firewhiskey she kept in her desk drawer. It was going to be a long day.

**A/N**

**House/Team: Ravenclaw**

**Class Subject: Transfiguration**

**Story Category: Standard**

**Prompt: [Event] Waking up as a ghost**

**Word Count: 1060 (Google Docs)**


End file.
